


This Metaphor Was Drawn From Bees

by Lisztful



Category: Merlin RPF
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-12
Updated: 2010-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisztful/pseuds/Lisztful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin is a farmer, Bradley's a beekeeper. Colin's closest friends are an old pony, a very soulful bulldog, and a surly farmhand. That is, until Bradley comes along and changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Metaphor Was Drawn From Bees

**Author's Note:**

> Comes from a kink meme prompt, "Colin is a farmer who spends his days tending to his horses and vegetable garden. Bradley is a beekeeper who tries to sell Colin honey. Bradley's bees get loose. Chaos, salve, and love ensue. Bonus points for chickens who try to creep into Colin's home at night and swallow his coins." The title is a slightly adapted quote from the Importance of Being Earnest, which is rather to blame for this story in general.

In county Essex, there is a river called the Colne. It passes through the town of Colchester, which many people will say is the oldest village in all of Britain, particularly people with spectacles and great dusty stacks of books. Perhaps it is a little strange to decide to make one's life in the oldest town in Britain, instead of the newest, but that is exactly what Colin Morgan's family did. Before they'd even thought to have a child, Colin's parents had set off for the town, inspired by his Mum's childhood bound book of quaint Victorian landscape postcards. They weren't the slightest bit disappointed, and they decided to buy a plot of land and raise their own crops.

Those were simpler days, and the Morgan family prospered. Before long, they began to produce enough vegetables to sell to the neighbors, and then even more, until they were supplying enough to support themselves completely. It was a good thing, too, for by this time Colin was born and spending his days running around in the fields and feeding the horses bits of apple through the pasture gate. They didn't keep livestock, because they were all too soft-hearted and had a bad habit of naming every creature they saw and pronouncing that it loved them, but they did have horses and a few chickens and ducks, and Colin considered them his closest friends.

So Colin grew tall and wild on the farm. He learned many useful things, such as how to card the rough wool from the market and knit it into a jumper, and how to clean tack and dig up potatoes and chop up herbs, and to bake various things together into a delicious pie. He felt it was a very good life, doing his take-home lessons while sitting by the warm hearth, watching his mum heat water for the cast-iron kettle and getting scolded by both his parents for his muddy trainers. This was his life for nearly twenty-three years, and that was when things changed.

It happened in the summer, when they were out with the crops, deciding what was ready and what needed a bit more sun. Colin's Da took a great leap over the little stone wall that separated the herbs from the climbing beans, tripped on a trowel, and fell flat upon his back. The next moments were full of squawking on the parts of Colin and his Mum, and grumbling on the part of his Da, who swore he could get up if he really wanted to, but just wasn't interested in it. They didn't listen to him, of course, and sent for the doctor, who came down from the village soon after.

Well, he would recover, but the doctor said there would be no more bending over the potato patch for Mr. Morgan. Colin and his Mum tried to console him as best they could, bringing him the best of the late batch of carrots, and making his favorite dishes, and walking into town for the crossword puzzles. Alas, he always looked a bit sad when he thought they wouldn't notice, and he was apprehended more than once, trying to limp out to the vegetable patch at night, as if the parsley couldn't possibly be harvested without his personal contribution.

"Right," his Mum said, finally. "We're going off to Bath. The air'll do your Da good, and it'll keep his mind on happier things. I've always wanted to see the ruins. We'll have to sell the farm, but perhaps some day we'll find our way back."

Of course, Colin couldn't bear to leave the farm, and so he agreed to stay on, while his parents went traveling. He knew the people who came to market already, so it wasn't as though he'd be alone, and besides, if he was being really honest, his best friend was still Tilda, the roan mare who always knew when he had a treat hidden in his hand. She was selfish and a bit smelly, but what true friends aren't, and at least she never tried to hide it.

So the farm became Colin's. He went to the market four times a week, and on the other days the townspeople came to him. He left rounds of bread dough to rise in the morning, and dried herbs from the rafters, and sometimes he took Tilda into town with him on a lead. She pretended to carry a few crates of potatoes, but really made him do all the work. The children liked to feed her, and sometimes they'd come to the farm and take a ride around the pasture. His farmhand, Katie, pretended she didn't think it was precious, but really she was quite transparent.

Colin was very happy with his life. He had Katie stay for dinner once a week, and she always brought her wife, Angel, who owned the bakery in town. In return, he walked into the village to their little white house on Sundays, and ate their version of a proper spread.

He had a dog, a great jowly bulldog named Earnest, because it was fitting, and they liked to take long walks by the river. Well, Colin liked long walks. Earnest more or less hated anything that wasn't sitting by the hearth and having his ears rubbed as he was fed bits of supper, but he loved Colin quite ferociously, so he was willing to make such sacrifices for him. At night, the chickens found a way into the house more often than not. The main perpetrator was a saucy hen named Bitsy, who was extremely good at finding chinks in the window-screen. He'd taken to leaving her little entry points years ago, and setting out a bit of grain.

This was Colin's family, it would not be remiss to repeat that he was quite happy. Still, some nights he stood in the doorway of his little cottage and stared out over the fields, or over the river, and felt as though he was still waiting for something else.

One warm day during the market season, Colin was out in the potato patch, digging with his hands. He liked to do things this way, as it seemed much nicer than using a cold, impersonal shovel. Besides, he'd grown up loving the rich scent of the earth, and the feel of it sifting through his hands. Earnest was lounging beside him, basking in a spot of sun and making little whuffling noises that indicated he was having his second favorite dream, the one where he ran with a pack of proud wolfhounds and didn't drool on them at all. It was a serious insecurity of his, and Colin was kind enough to wipe off his jowls with a special dishtowel when they were expecting company.

They weren't, and yet company arrived. Company was a young man, about Colin's age, or perhaps a little older. He was blond and looked quite strong, and the look on his face was very pleasant. Colin looked up from where he was kneeling in the dirt, saw all of this, and promptly blushed. This had never happened to him before, except when he was in close proximity to Santiago, who owned the village pub and had stayed for a whole year with his uncle in the big city. Katie and Angel said Colin acted quite foolish around him.

The man was clad in the usual farm attire, wellies and good strong denims and a flannel shirt. Still, while Colin felt grimy and thin and a bit like he was from the wrong decade, this man looked as though he came from one of those glossy magazines the card shop sold, next to the loose tobacco packets and the children's sweets. He had a wooden contraption under his arm, and it appeared to be full of something alive, although Colin couldn't make out exactly what. A dog trotted close behind him, some sort of pointer dog with wiry hair who looked weathered but very noble.

"Morning," the man said. "I'm Bradley. I've just bought the house down the road." He gestured, well, down the road. Colin remembered hearing whispers of this, of Old Man Jones finally retiring and moving in with his daughter, who was an honest-to-god barrister over in Hertfordshire.

"Oh," Colin said, and stood to brush his hands off upon his trousers. "Cheers, it's great to meet you. I'm Colin Morgan."

Bradley strode over to shake his hand, and oh, the contraption was full of bees. Bradley was very careful not to tilt it as he leaned down to pat Earnest. "What a lovely fellow," he said. "What's his name?"

"Earnest," Colin said, and Bradley smiled politely at him. "Pleasure to meet you, Earnest. This is Errol."

Errol the farmdog was, it turned out, more than willing to curl up in the sun next to Earnest, where they began what appeared to be a very civil conversation. As for Bradley, Colin invited him round to the front porch, where he poured tea and brought out a few biscuits. Katie was out by the far end of the fields, shouting rude words as she fought with the creeping ivy, so Colin decided to let her be.

"So," Bradley said smoothly, when they were settled. "I've brought you some honey. It's what I do, honey and comb and beeswax and the like. I sell it at market, but I thought I'd do a bit of good will and bring some by."

"Jolly good," Colin said, because it was. "Why don't we have it on these biscuits?"

With that, he reached for the jar, and Bradley did too, and somehow, in a fit of the sort of clumsiness that made Colin want to slink under the table and hide, it slipped out of both of their hands, careening off the table to hit the bee contraption with a sharp crack.

"Oh dear," Bradley said. "That thing's not terribly secure. I think perhaps we ought to run."

The contraption began to hum ominously, and a single bee floated up to land on Colin's nose. He stared it down, trying to explain that he really meant no harm, but bees are not the sort of creatures to say, sorry, I'm sure it was an accident that you destroyed my home and ruined my afternoon nap, so it stung him right on the tip of his nose.

"Ow," Bradley said from behind him, as though he was very sorry to be such a bother, and then they both leapt off the porch, a growing swarm of bees following close behind.

"Earnest, make for the hills!" Colin shouted, trying not to whimper when a bee caught him on his palm. "Take Errol, don't look back!"

"Water," Bradley panted from beside him, and though he looked quite comical, one side of his face all swollen up, it was still a good idea, and they dove into the Colne without hesitation. Fortunately, it was quite shallow here, deep enough to catch them, but not enough to carry them away.

"I do hope the dogs are all right," Colin said, once they'd done with spluttering and pulling bits of leaves from each others' hair.

"Errol can care for himself," Arthur said, and brushed back Colin's hair. "You've got one on your ear here, doesn't that hurt?"

"Yeah," Colin said mournfully. "They all hurt. And I'm really more worried about Earnest. He believes in calm discussion, not self-defense."

"If it's any consolation," Bradley said, "I think they all followed us." He felt at his swollen cheek and winced. "I must look a right mess."

Colin snorted, realized it was not a polite thing to do, and blushed, all in rapid succession. "There's nothing right about it," he said finally, and after Bradley had finished his hearty laugh, added, "Won't this hurt your honey crop, losing your bees?"

"Oh," Bradley said, and tossed up his hand. "That was but a fraction of them. They look so sad when I go, I like to take at least a few at a time with me, for a little walk."

"Lovely walking, along the river," Colin said. "Earnest and I go in the evening. Generally we don't go in the river, though circumstances aside, it is rather pleasant."

"Oh excellent," Bradley said. "Errol and I love a good walk. Shall we venture back to dry land? I've a salve that does wonders for bee-stings."

"How often does this sort of accident happen to you?" Colin asked suspiciously, but he still allowed himself to be pulled out of the water. Bradley was strong, and smelled of river-water and earth and something a little sweet.

Inside, they took turns applying salve to their wounds, and it really did do wonders for the pain. "Here," Bradley said, after Colin managed to smear it all over his face, "I'll do the ones you can't see, and then you can help me." With that, Colin found himself seated on a wooden stool, letting Bradley James, errant beekeeper and possibly fashion model, gently tend to his wounds. It was rather nice, as no one except his Mum had ever tended to his wounds at all, much less someone who looked like Bradley and hummed cheerful tunes under his breath and had big, smooth hands that made him want to ask if Bradley could maybe tend to the rest of him, too, even the places that weren't stung.

Katie came back before Colin had quite finished on Bradley's stings, looking tired and a bit irritated at the gall of the local weeds. She banged into the cottage without any sort of decorum, cursing when she knocked into the table with her hip, which happened at least once a week. "Who're you then?" she asked briskly, and Bradley smiled disarmingly and introduced himself.

"Ah," Katie said. " 'm off to the lady. Needing anything else before I go?"

"No," Colin said. "Have a lovely night."

She nodded, wiping her hands upon her trousers. "I'll be over tomorrow while you're at market, see to that wall in the barn. Think it's leaking a bit."

"Delightful to meet you," Bradley said, and Katie nodded and tromped out the door, leaving a muddy path that would've had Colin's mum apoplectic.

"I ought to be getting back too," Bradley said, "But I'll see you at market."

"Right," Colin said. "Thanks for the excitement."

Bradley had the good grace to look ashamed, turning in the doorway. "Sorry," he said, and then he was striding down the lane, Errol trotting by his side. Colin wandered back out to the potato patch, where Earnest was watching them go with a curious look on his face.

"We've got it bad, old boy," Colin said, and Earnest sighed and collapsed back into a sunny sleep.

They began sharing a table at market. Colin set out cabbages and carrots and aubergines, Swedes and string beans and great, earthy potatoes. Bradley set out honey in little pots, hunks of comb, squares of wax wrapped in butcher's paper, and fragrant golden soaps. When Angel agreed to watch their stand, they walked through the market, exclaiming at the dace, lying still and silver on a bed of ice, caught by the vicar in his off hours, and the fresh bread Angel baked very early in the morning, and countless tarts and pies and pretty shawls. It became a tradition, one that they upheld at least once a week, and they never tired of it, buying a meat pasty to share and dropping bits to Earnest and Errol, who trailed dutifully behind them.

In the evening, they packed up their wares together, and Bradley snuck treats to Tilda, who responded with a withering glare at his attempt to win her allegiance, but ate them anyway. "Have a walk with me and Earnest tonight," Colin finally said, when the days had begun to cool, and Bradley smiled broadly and agreed. They walked for ages, talking about how the Romans had walked here, and the Saxons too, and perhaps standing a bit too close together when they stopped to look out at the various interesting things- birds and plants and insects -that frequented the river.

After that, Bradley sometimes came over for dinner, and sometimes Colin went to Bradley's. It was a lovely place, airy and bright where his was dark and earthy, and Bradley always had it full of the smells of lovely food. He fancied himself a bit of a cook, so more days than not he stopped by with a new creation for Colin to sample, with varying levels of success.

In October, Katie and Angel had a dinner party to celebrate the last harvest, and when Katie invited Colin she slapped him on the chest with her gardening gloves and said, "Invite your young man, too."

"I haven't one of those," Colin said, but secretly it made him feel warm and a bit fuzzy, and that was rather nice. Bradley was lovely at dinner, and Earnest and Errol were quite well-behaved, laying down in a mass of limbs under the table, where everyone could easily drop crumbs to them and pretend they hadn't. Colin had a bit too much cider, and Katie did too, and they all got a bit silly. Afterward, he and Bradley walked home in the cool evening, slow and contented and jostling gently together as they looked out at the river.

Halfway there, there was a little stone bridge, and Bradley stopped there, sitting down on the edge and letting his feet dangle over the water. Colin joined him, and the dogs looked significantly at one another and curled up under a nearby tree, giving them a little privacy.

"Katie called you my young man," Colin said, because he didn't drink cider very often and so had not learned to be coy while doing so.

Bradley looked over at him and smiled, and his eyes looked just like the water stretched out endlessly behind them, bright and luminous. "I rather think I am," he said, and took Colin's hands in his own, warm and smooth. "Is that all right?"

Colin leaned in and kissed him, and felt as though something vast and wonderful was welling up inside him. "I rather think it is," he said, and Earnest and Errol thought that it had taken their boys quite long enough to understand what they had seen all along.


End file.
